Arcade froze. He felt as though an ice cold hand had taken a hold of his lungs and squeezed the air out of them.
Oh god.
Oh god, Boone knew. His family? He had to know. Why would he care about his family? It was all over. Everything was over, Boone knew he was Enclave. God, how could he have been so stupid, so obvious? He must have given himself away, somewhere, something he said, some vital information he let slip-
Arcade squeezed his eyes shut for a second, composing himself. No. He had been careful. Maybe it's a false alarm. Be calm. He opened them again, casually looking down into his drink. “What... what do you want to know?” It would be best, he figured, to find out exactly how much Boone knew before assuming anything.
Boone turned his face, still resting heavily on his hands. “... your dad. What was he like?”
My dad. Arcade fought to keep a neutral expression. His father. Officer Arcade Gannon Sr., Navarro squadron, Enclave solider, main infantry. Amen.
“I. I didn't know him that well..”
The only face Arcade knows is his bug-eyed Telsa helmet.
“... he died when I was very young..”
A war casualty, he died defending a psychotic leader's delusions of grandeur.
“... but even when he was alive he worked a lot...”
He killed and tortured men, women, and children.
“... but I imagine he was a good man.”
Arcade knew he was a monster.
Boone sighed again, lifting his head heavily from his hands and wiping at his face, knocking the ever-present beret slightly askew. Arcade had to quash the urge to reach out and fix it.
He seemed to be in the clear, Boone didn't know. He had been mistaken, too jumpy. Too paranoid. But what else was new?
“So...why do you ask?”
Boone looked up into Arcade's face and now that Arcade was close enough to make out the man's eyes what he saw was heart breaking. Every part of the normally aloof and hardened sharpshooter's countenance screamed agony. Even when seriously hurt, even when Arcade would have to stitch up Boone's various Mojave-inflicted injuries with nothing more than some thread, a dull needle, and a pencil to bite on, never had he seen the man look so utterly harrowed. And then, Boone dropped the bomb:
“I was going to be a dad.”
And for the second time in only a matter of minutes, Arcade felt his stomach drop through the floor.
“Oh.. oh Craig. I didn't know. I'm so sorry.” He moved his hand, still frozen on Boone's arm, to grip his shoulder fiercely wanting- needing- to somehow relay some sort of comfort, or support, or something. Anything.
He had known about Carla, most of them knew thanks to the Courier's inability to practice any sort of privacy or discretion when it came to the affairs of others. But it was never malicious gossip, only worried confiding, and everyone had done their best to be understanding without treating Boone any differently than they already had been.
Arcade knew what happened in Novac, how the courier stealthily investigated almost everyone in the town once she'd met Boone and found out that his wife had been kidnapped and killed. How she'd turned the town inside out looking for clues. He knew about the receipt, about the sale, about Boone's blind hatred for anything legion (and really, Arcade didn't blame him in the least).
But he hadn't known Carla was pregnant. Damn him. He hadn't known.
In an uncharacteristic display, Boone clapped his own hand over Arcade's on his shoulder and gripped it fiercely. Arcade gripped back with just as much intensity, for once at a complete loss for words.
Boone shut his eyes, shaking his head and forcing out a humorless laugh. “Sorry, fuck, I don't know why I-” Arcade cut him off. “Don't apologize. You have nothing to feel sorry for. We just, we probably just had too much to drink, right? But it's alright. It's ok. I mean, it's not ok but... you're my friend, Craig. I care about you.”
Boone let go of Arcade's hand, shrugging him off.
“Suppose I would have been a lousy dad anyway.” Boone's voice was barely above a whisper.
“Stop!” Arcade interjected, and was surprised when the command came out much harsher than he had intended. “Sorry. It's just- don't say that, ok? It isn't true.”
Desperado (part 3) [arcade/boone, daddy kink]
Oh god.
Oh god, Boone knew. His family? He had to know. Why would he care about his family? It was all over. Everything was over, Boone knew he was Enclave. God, how could he have been so stupid, so obvious? He must have given himself away, somewhere, something he said, some vital information he let slip-
Arcade squeezed his eyes shut for a second, composing himself. No. He had been careful. Maybe it's a false alarm. Be calm. He opened them again, casually looking down into his drink. “What... what do you want to know?” It would be best, he figured, to find out exactly how much Boone knew before assuming anything.
Boone turned his face, still resting heavily on his hands. “... your dad. What was he like?”
My dad. Arcade fought to keep a neutral expression. His father. Officer Arcade Gannon Sr., Navarro squadron, Enclave solider, main infantry. Amen.
“I. I didn't know him that well..”
The only face Arcade knows is his bug-eyed Telsa helmet.
“... he died when I was very young..”
A war casualty, he died defending a psychotic leader's delusions of grandeur.
“... but even when he was alive he worked a lot...”
He killed and tortured men, women, and children.
“... but I imagine he was a good man.”
Arcade knew he was a monster.
Boone sighed again, lifting his head heavily from his hands and wiping at his face, knocking the ever-present beret slightly askew. Arcade had to quash the urge to reach out and fix it.
He seemed to be in the clear, Boone didn't know. He had been mistaken, too jumpy. Too paranoid. But what else was new?
“So...why do you ask?”
Boone looked up into Arcade's face and now that Arcade was close enough to make out the man's eyes what he saw was heart breaking. Every part of the normally aloof and hardened sharpshooter's countenance screamed agony. Even when seriously hurt, even when Arcade would have to stitch up Boone's various Mojave-inflicted injuries with nothing more than some thread, a dull needle, and a pencil to bite on, never had he seen the man look so utterly harrowed. And then, Boone dropped the bomb:
“I was going to be a dad.”
And for the second time in only a matter of minutes, Arcade felt his stomach drop through the floor.
“Oh.. oh Craig. I didn't know. I'm so sorry.” He moved his hand, still frozen on Boone's arm, to grip his shoulder fiercely wanting- needing- to somehow relay some sort of comfort, or support, or something. Anything.
He had known about Carla, most of them knew thanks to the Courier's inability to practice any sort of privacy or discretion when it came to the affairs of others. But it was never malicious gossip, only worried confiding, and everyone had done their best to be understanding without treating Boone any differently than they already had been.
Arcade knew what happened in Novac, how the courier stealthily investigated almost everyone in the town once she'd met Boone and found out that his wife had been kidnapped and killed. How she'd turned the town inside out looking for clues. He knew about the receipt, about the sale, about Boone's blind hatred for anything legion (and really, Arcade didn't blame him in the least).
But he hadn't known Carla was pregnant. Damn him. He hadn't known.
In an uncharacteristic display, Boone clapped his own hand over Arcade's on his shoulder and gripped it fiercely. Arcade gripped back with just as much intensity, for once at a complete loss for words.
Boone shut his eyes, shaking his head and forcing out a humorless laugh. “Sorry, fuck, I don't know why I-” Arcade cut him off. “Don't apologize. You have nothing to feel sorry for. We just, we probably just had too much to drink, right? But it's alright. It's ok. I mean, it's not ok but... you're my friend, Craig. I care about you.”
Boone let go of Arcade's hand, shrugging him off.
“Suppose I would have been a lousy dad anyway.” Boone's voice was barely above a whisper.
“Stop!” Arcade interjected, and was surprised when the command came out much harsher than he had intended. “Sorry. It's just- don't say that, ok? It isn't true.”